


Dystopian Dawn: Bloodlust

by Blipper



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blipper/pseuds/Blipper
Summary: for the /ztg/ post apocalypse TTHope you all enjoy, I might make this theme into a series





	Dystopian Dawn: Bloodlust

I've learnt to harness the night.

The ramshackle lights of the People's Central Zootopian Republic don't reach the outer areas, especially not the thick foliage of the rain forest. I spread my wings and beckon the rest of my men to join me. All of us are bats, we use our flying skills to our advantage. 

"Miss Anya, a lone bandit approaches and I think they're wounded." It's one of my forward scouts, Jason. He's a sweet kid but not suited for the bloodiness of combat yet. Speaking of blood, this bandit should be an easy meal. Blood stocks are near nonexistent outside the PCZR, I've heard that the Outback Confederation has a proper medical service but getting there is a task in itself. 

"We'll do the usual, they won't know what hit 'em," I chuckle.

We check our wing blades before perching on the ledge of the ruined cafe my squadron have set up in for the past few days.

"Go."

We're off in a flash, diving into the darkness and towards our prey, some medium sized canine. He sniffs the air and looks about at the flapping, I slash deep into his shoulder with my wings. The rest of us come down on him like a storm of steel. At some point someone gets his throat and he falls back, smashing his head on the ruined pavement. I'm far too frenzied over the prospect of fresh blood to do anything else but leap on him.

I go straight for one of his arteries, using my razor sharp fangs to rip into him. The blood's still warm - perfect for lapping up. The rich metallic taste is always something I look forward to when feeding. The others pick apart at his possessions while I have my meal, just some PCZR dollars and a some odd ornate box. The problem with having a liquid based diet is that it hits your kidneys faster than a bullet, the others politely turn away as I take a quick leak. 

"Uh, boss?" One of the others asks, "Look at this."

They're holding the strange box. Inside is a gem of some sort, deep red in colour, that is engraved with a pattern on the top. The crystal is obviously priceless by pre-war standards but no one would pay for it in these times. 

"You think we could sell it on?" The rest of the squadron look hopeful.

"Martha would be interested but it's never going to sell for its original value," I grumble, "We'll take it her place later." 

"Would anyone else want it?" Jason timidly inquires.

"It's pretty much a paperweight to any merchant, the PCZR wouldn't give us a penny for it, the Hegemony would shoot us or give us their worthless cred-sticks, there's no way of getting this thing to the Confederation, and I'm not sure if the Polar Covenant even has a currency."

"Martha's it is then."

I wipe my face clean of any blood, I'm a monster but I'm no savage. We should get going with this gem anyway, Central Republic troops aren't an uncommon sight around the edge of the rain forest. Our squadron takes off back into the night, soaring high up into the sky.

It's calm up here, and we've got a little to go until we reach the canals. Recently I've been thinking about finding my friends from before the war. I can only hope that they've pulled through. We weave through the canopy of the rain forest, sadly silent since the war. The lack of light means that we've got a clear view of the night sky and the twinkling stars. Something else flickers on the distance too, I know that the Hegemony has choppers but they normally fly lower than this. It could be one of the strange craft the Polar Covenant use, the few tales of them there are suggest they're some sort of flying saucer shape. I think it might be the latter considering it just drifts about without much noise. We speed onward to the canals, more specifically to the commercial area.

The Blackjack isn't exactly a high class establishment even by post-war standards but we're well known there so it's a good place to hang about and drown our sorrows. The wolf at the door doesn't even bother us as we stride in. There's few about tonight but those here turn their heads our way as we walk in, dry blood still caked around my body. The owner, Junior, is waiting for us at the bar.

"Good to see you Anya," the boar says with his usual friendly demeanour, "Who was it tonight?"

"Some bandit drifter."

"You get much off of him?"

"A trinket that Martha might like, I'll take it over to her now."

The rest of the squadron begin lounging about the bar as Junior serves some drinks. I duck through the back door and down some steps into the cellar. There's not much light but I know there's another door here. This one's locked though, it's a remote lock system with an intercom. I jab a finger onto the button.

"Hey Martha, I've got something pretty interesting here, buzz me in will you?"

With a sharp hiss the door unlocks and gently swings open revealing a small passageway. A small light lies at the end, flickering occasionally. I can see perfectly fine but echolocation comes in handy for dark spaces like this. I meander about a few sharp crags sticking out the wall and press on to the brightness before me. Martha's place used to be some maintenance station for the canals but it was looted for parts to repair the climate control between Tundra and Sahara. It's been spruced up into a sort of underground market. Wool rugs plaster the floor, covering as much space as possible. A haphazard array of cushions and pillows are sprawled out near a food counter, a few mammals resting on them. A few paces over is a makeshift shop front where the owner of this quirky space is waiting.

"Martha Bellwether, business as usual I presume?"

"Better than it normally is with the recent Hegemony raid which I assume you're here to profit off?" She grins.

"You sound like your mother sometimes." She rolls her eyes, "No, I think you might be interested in this." I present the box to her and flip it open. 

"Where... did you get that?" She's stunned at the sight of the gem.

"Some wounded bandit, pretty weird for him to be carrying it."

"It's this pattern of top I recognise." Martha begins rustling through a small stack of paper. "Here, the PCZR have been searching for this, I've gotten my hooves on a radio tuned to one of their military frequencies but they change it weekly. This jewel and the pattern are quite important it seems."

"What do they want it for?"

"I don't know, knowing them it's not for its material worth."

"A military gain?" This is quite confusing, why would they need this thing?

"It would make sense, the Hegemony is a constant threat."

"Oh well, it's useless to us anyway, keep it."

"No no, take this for your trouble." Martha presses a few PCZR dollar bills into my claws.

"They should make you a saint, Martha." I give her a friendly smile.

We part ways, she turns back to her stack of papers and I head back towards the bar. The rest of the squadron are chilling with a few drinks. I walk over to join them in their reveling. The past day or so has been a blur, a wounded bandit, a mysterious gem, and the unwanted attention of the PCZR.

I've had enough for one night.


End file.
